Peaches
by bugsfic
Summary: What to get the man who has everything?


_The Doctor Blake fandom is in need of some fluffy fic at the moment, I think. Thanks to Aussie for Ausification and slapping around words in general._

* * *

"Charlie, you're a man."

Charlie looked up from his morning newspaper warily. "Yes, Mrs Beazley," he said slowly. He glanced toward the doctor's office, but Lucien had gone on early housecalls. He was alone and defenseless.

Jean was at the sink, finishing up the morning dishes. She wrung the teatowel and looked out the window, focusing as sharply as a general gazing over the battlefield. Charlie's trepidation grew.

"I'm in a bit of a pickle, you see. I'm at a loss on what to get Lucien for the groom's wedding gift."

Charlie hated picking out presents.

"Everything I think of seems too impersonal. An engraved pen set, a new watch..." She came over and leaned on the back of a chair. "Even a first edition of a favourite novel just feels so much like something that he'd buy himself."

"Yes," Charlie said.

She raised her eyebrows. Obviously she expected him to offer a clue into the male mind.

"It's true the Doctor has very specific tastes." She looked alarmed so he hurried to clarify. "That is, I can see your problem."

She sighed deeply. "What to get him?" she mused, and wandered from the kitchen.

Forgotten, Charlie folded his newspaper. He wasn't sure what she'd decide, but his concern wasn't abated.

Jean knew better than to try to trick Lucien into telling her what he'd enjoy. Instead, she thought back through their years together, the snips and drabs of everyday life. And she remembered one particular detail—he'd always wanted a dog as a boy.

Jean had grown up with farm dogs, and with two boys, there'd always been a dog running about the Beazley farm. She looked around the neat house. She could accept a dog if Lucien kept it outside, and if it didn't dig in her garden beds. She warmed to this idea. Yes, some handsome heeler, to take Lucien on long walks and get him out his head for a bit. The visual was quite appealing. She was already planning to make him a tweed jacket with leather elbow patches to complete the ensemble.

Once her plan was set, Jean asked to borrow the car. Lucien was obviously curious, but she ignored his attempts to ferret out her mission. After dropping him at the hospital, she drove to the Merritt farm. Flora was in her church sewing circle, and had told Jean that their red cattle dog bitch had welped recently and Jean could have her pick of the litter. Although she wouldn't bring the puppy home that day, she'd select just the right dog for Lucien.

After Jean put on gum boots, Flora's husband Rod took her to the barn, where the farm's champion cattle dog, Sandhurst Early Dawn, better known as Sandy, lay in her welping box with her litter. Ten squirming red and blue puppies fought over her teets.

"Oh, they're adorable!" Jean said, leaning over to look. "I don't know which one to choose."

Rod lit a cigarette. "You'll want a nice big female. She'll guard your house too."

Jean hadn't thought of that. The late nights when Lucien was out on calls, to have a faithful dog beside their bed, growling masterfully at every creak of the house...

A scuffling sound caught her attention. At first, she thought the thing moving toward her was a mat of hay being shifted by the wind across the barn floor. Then two bright eyes peered at her. Fearing it was a rat, she gasped.

"Get now!" roared Rod and the mound of hair shied away.

"What is that?" Jean asked. It was shuffling closer to her and she stepped back.

"Bloody hell," grumbled Rod. "It's Flora's mum's old dog."

"That's a dog?" Jean said, appalled.

"It's her bloody poodle, Peaches."

Jean remembered that Flora's mother had died several months back. The woman had moved to Ballarat from Melbourne about four years ago, but she hadn't been social. Rarely attending church, and when Jean did see her out and about, she always had a small, perfectly groomed orange-coated poodle with her. That fluffball looked nothing like this creature.

"She seems in want of a bath," Jean said mildly.

Rod only grinned humourlessly. "No need. Tired of her hanging around. Gonna take her for a long walk in the backfield, if you know what I mean."

Jean stared at him. She did know what he meant. She looked down at the box full of happy, plump puppies. Peaches shuffled closer and was sniffing around for something to eat, completely unaware.

Back in the car, Jean drove very fast away from the farm. She didn't have time for this sort of commitment. She was marrying Lucien Blake in a few weeks after all.

"This shall just be temporary, Peaches," she said. The dog thumped her tail on the floorboard, those bright eyes watching Jean. She found that she couldn't meet Peaches' gaze.

Once home, Jean was grateful to see that Lucien and Charlie were still not there. She popped Peaches into the sunroom, and fetched the electric clippers from the surgery. Mentally promising to replace the blades, she clipped the matted and filthy hair from the small dog, and used scissors to cut away around the nose and eyes. Each involuntary pain-induced yip broke her heart. When the fur was all gone, she discovered the poor creature was near starving, with her bones protruding. There were also fleas crawling through her remaining thatchy hair. Carrying the dog carefully outside with her arms fully extended, Jean washed Peaches with antiseptic soap and rubbed her vigorously with an old towel.

Leaving the dog to dry in the sun, Jean retrieved some chopped liver from the refrigerator. Peaches ate heartily before tossing herself down in the grass and immediately falling asleep.

Jean stood for a moment, unsure what to do. When it appeared that the dog was napping, she cleaned up the mess and started to deadhead plants. Eventually Peaches woke and began to follow her. She didn't bother Jean or dig, Jean was pleased to see, but sat and watched her gardening.

"Jean, dear," Lucien called from the garden gate, "I'm home."

She suddenly realised that she had no idea what to tell him, but before she could reply, Peaches trotted off in his direction, wiggling her skinny body.

"What's this?" Lucien asked, sounding delighted, and Jean relaxed.

"It's Peaches," she said rather confusingly.

He leaned down to pat the little dog, and Jean had to tell the whole story, ending with, "I just couldn't leave her there, Lucien. But I know it's not the sort of dog that you'd want."

He put his hands on his hips and looked at Peaches. "No, of course not."

"Once she's got a bit of meat on her, and her hair grows out, I'm sure I can find her a home," promised Jean.

"Well, yes," he said slowly, still watching the little dog sniffing around in the garden. "A new home."

Peaches shadowed Jean while she prepared dinner, staying out from under her feet, but readily accepting tidbits. "I suppose I should keep her shut outside," Jean said as she fed Peaches a trimming from the pork roast.

Lucien watched her and smiled. "She needs to fatten up before we can expect someone to take her off our hands."

Charlie joined them and heard the whole story. He gave Peaches a scratch on the back and offered to help prepare dinner. Jean shooed him away and he sat at the table. When Jean bent over to give Peaches just one more nibble, Lucien leant back in his chair to admire her backside. The gentle yearning smile on his face gave Charlie an idea for that groom's present. And it would be a gift for him too. He was tired of the uncomfortable instances of stumbling upon the two of them, only to have them jump apart, yanking clothes back into place. Their various lame excuses for evening drives was embarrassing to hear as well.

He spoke up. "Say, I've been put on the night shift, starting tomorrow. I'll be gone _all_ night."

From their guilty and pleased expressions, he realised that he'd perhaps put too much emphasis on it, but there was no going back now. He'd just have to contact Ned and swap shifts with him before the next evening.

After dinner, Jean fetched an apple box and a blanket scrap for Peaches' bed. The little dog settled into it, although she did seem somewhat confused.

"Poor thing is used to sharing her mistress's bed," Jean noted, feeling herself weaken as she looked into Peaches' big brown eyes.

"I think Mrs Brown was one of father's patients, but she must have switched doctors when he died," Lucien said.

"Flora mentioned that her mother had heard that you...have a hands on approach." Jean knelt down to rub Peaches' offered belly. Her tail thumped enthusiastically against the side of the box.

"Of course I do." He furrowed his brow. "That's how I connect with my patients."

"Well, Flora just said that her mother wasn't comfortable with that, and went to Dr McCarthy," she said carefully.

Lucien chose not to point out that Mrs Brown was dead without a hands on approach. Instead, he pulled Jean into his arms. "But you don't mind my hands?" he murmured, and then settled his lips on her neck and his palms on her hips.

She wrapped her arms around his waist and laced her fingers tightly. "Not in the least," she assured him.

Their mouths were just touching when Charlie's footfall made them jump apart. Peaches popped her head up in her box, alert at the tension in the air.

"Well, yes, goodnight then, Mrs Beazley," Lucien said, clearing his throat.

"Yes, yes, goodnight, Doctor." Jean patted her hair back in place and headed down the hall to the stairs.

Charlie rolled his eyes and followed her.

In the middle of the night, Lucien began to have a nightmare. Nothing concrete that he would remember when he woke, but the sense of terror and helplessness was so real. In her box, Peaches heard his frantic but strangled cries. She hopped out and hurried to his door. It was closed but when she started to scratch, it swung open.

The bed was much too high for her to jump up. She raced from side to side and whined, but Lucien wasn't waking. She jumped up on the chair by the bed, gathered all her strength, and launched herself toward the mattress. Her front legs reached it, but she had to scramble with her hind legs for purchase. Lucien still didn't wake, thrashing as though fleeing some horror.

Peaches came up beside him and pressed her paws on his chest. Still asleep, he stilled, but his breathing remained frantic. She lay at his side, remaining in close contact. Finally waking a bit, he touched her. "Whaa?" he mumbled. He began to stroke her fur, and fell right back to sleep. After a few minutes, as his breathing slowed, Peaches propped her head on her paws and fell asleep as well.

In the morning, Jean first noticed that Peaches wasn't in her box. A bit worried, she looked around to see if the little dog had messed on the floor, or had chewed anything. No messes, but not poodle either. Then she realised that Lucien wasn't up. Usually he went to bed late and rose early. His door was ajar though. She peeked in and saw him sleeping as he always did, flat on his back, but tucked under his arm was Peaches. The dog peeked over his chest at Jean, and she could swear that the little beast was giving her a warning look. Jean raised her eyebrows but Peaches only laid her head on Lucien's chest.

Giving a shrug, Jean went to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. The banging of pots brought Peaches to her side.

"Oh, I have my uses, do I?" Jean said, amused.

She was feeding Peaches a fried egg on an old chipped plate when Lucien came in, tying his dressing gown closed and looking sheepish.

"Sorry, I guess I overslept. I didn't think that I drank that much last night..."

"Your first appointment isn't for another hour. Relax."

He sat at the table and held out his teacup for her to fill. "And how's Peaches this morning?" The dog abandoned her breakfast to accept his head scratches.

Jean thought about telling him what she'd seen this morning, but decided that he might be embarrassed to admit he'd brought the little dog to his bed. They both must remain strong after all, and give Peaches up.

"Is there some bacon for her?" he asked.

"Lucien, we mustn't spoil her," Jean scolded. Then fed Peaches in piece of bacon.

Charlie rolled his eyes behind their backs and excused himself. He had to rearrange his schedule quickly.

Ned was more than happy to be off the night shift, and Charlie enjoyed his last leisurely supper that evening. From the amount of food that Jean and Lucien were slipping to Peaches under the table, he was easily replaced as a surrogate child. She was already putting on weight, and her wiggle was becoming more of a jiggle.

Lucien noticed as well, and suggested a long walk after dinner. Jean happily joined he and Peaches, but any time they tried to have a bit of a cuddle under the trees along the lane, cars would come along, the headlamps lighting them up.

Lucien picked up Peaches. "I'm worried about her getting hit," he said, holding her close.

Jean couldn't even fit her hand in under Lucien's elbow as he cradled the dog. Screwing her mouth up in irritation, she trailed them home. She did get in her shot though. "It isn't a beneficial walk for Peaches if you carry her," she pointed out.

"Oh, she's still got to gain strength," he said, oblivious to her temper.

When it was time for bed, Peaches followed Lucien to his room, determination in her prancing stride. He peeked out into the corridor. He could hear Jean in the bathroom, splashing around with her evening bath.

He picked up Peaches and carried her to her box. "Baby, you need to sleep out here."

She was back at his side before he could close his bedroom door. "No. Bad girl," he hissed, listening for Jean. There was no conviction in his voice. Peaches sat, waiting patiently for him to lift her onto the bed.

"Alright," he muttered, "we'll compromise." He retrieved the apple box quickly, for he could hear the bath draining. Setting it by his bed, he patted the blanket, and after a moment's hesitation, Peaches got in, turned three times and lay down with a sigh.

"Good girl," he said, closing the door just as he heard the bathroom door opening.

Jean came through the house, shutting off the last lamps. She noticed the apple box and Peaches weren't in the lounge, and looking at Lucien's bedroom door, shook her head. It wasn't going to make getting rid of Peaches any easier for him to coddle her, but that was just like Lucien.

Once under the covers, Lucien began to have vague memories about the previous night. Thinking on it a bit more, he got up and moved the chair by the bed. If Peaches wanted to get up, she could. He turned off the light, feeling more comfortable than he usually did.

In the morning, Peaches was still in her bed, but he felt well-rested for once. He had that familiar sense of small clues starting to come together for him, but the solution remained elusive. All day, Peaches followed him closely, making Jean frown. It was odd to find herself feeling a bit jealous of a dog. A dog who'd be leaving soon, she reminded herself.

Charlie left for work after a quick early dinner, his mantle of sacrifice secure on his shoulders. Jean had felt too many butterflies in her stomach to prepare a roast and potatoes—they were going to be alone, completely utterly alone all night—so she had suggested omelettes and a salad. From Lucien's tense expression, he shared her trepidation.

After washing up, they drifted into the lounge. Lucien half-heartedly suggested turning on the television but Jean asked him to put on music instead. She didn't want any distractions. She was leaned back on the sofa, smiling softly when he turned from the radiogram. Grinning, he crossed the room to join her.

"Remind me to recommend Charlie for a promotion," he murmured as he tugged her close and into a kiss. Jean giggled against his mouth and happily crawled into his lap. Frantic energy fused and sparked in hands and mouths finally going to new and previously forbidden places.

Lucien's heart was thumping so loudly, he wondered if Jean could feel his chest leaping under her palm. Somehow his shirt buttons had come undone—wait, her blouse was half-unbuttoned as well and his hand discovered her breast...His other hand burrowed under her skirt, his wrist pulling the narrow skirt up higher and higher as his fingers stroked her thigh...There was the edge of her stocking and holyland of her warm skin...

She was crawling closer still, her tongue delving deeper into his mouth between gasps for breath, and arched into his touch. Her leg slid between his thighs and his eyes snapped open as it became quickly evident that if something didn't change within the next few moments, he was going to have an embarrassment of the sort that occurred when he was twenty-one and in the back of a London taxicab with a red-haired chorus girl.

His thoughts immediately scrambled to the bedroom, clothes off, under the bedspread...or should they stay on the sofa so the spell wouldn't be broken?

What did Jean want? He'd let her decide. Tugging loose the fingers buried in his hair, he pulled her hand between their bodies to his belt buckle. The clank of brass as it was undone was unbearably loud. She wanted this, she really wanted this—his heart raced even faster.

Then he felt a different, very odd sensation. Peaches was standing on his foot and had her front paws on his knee, pressing insistently.

"Peaches," he gasped, "get off."

"Peaches!" Jean panted, falling back against the cushions in exasperation. "That bloody dog has a crush on you!" she accused.

Peaches cocked her head and he could only interpret her expression as confusion. As his breathing slowed, he noticed how she got down off his leg, but still watched him.

"Perhaps we should...move to another room," Jean said with great daring. "And close the door."

He was staring at the dog. "No..." he mused, not noticing her huff of indignation. "I want to look at Mrs Brown's file first."

Leaving Jean on the sofa, mouth hanging open in shock, he hurried to his office. Locating the file, he flipped it open and began to quickly scan it.

After straightening her clothes, Jean joined him. His shirt was unbuttoned and she wrapped her arms around his shoulder, burying her nose against his neck, still sheened with sweat. "Lucien," she murmured.

"Mrs Brown was the victim of an assault while living in Melbourne."

"Yes," Jean said slowly as she stood upright, "Flora mentioned that her mother had been attacked in her cottage by a thief and didn't feel safe living alone anymore. That's why she moved to Ballarat."

"Father believed that she was interfered with, not just attacked."

Jean gasped in horror. "That poor old woman!"

"Father couldn't get her to allow a complete examination, but she was exhibiting symptoms of a venereal disease. As her husband had been dead for thirty years, it was unlikely she'd contracted it in a romantic encounter."

"But what made you think of this?" Jean asked impatiently, put out that Lucien would interrupt their own romantic encounter in this fashion.

"The dog." Peaches had trotted into the office and sat patiently by the desk, watching them. "Father mentions Peaches, and that he believes the dog is giving her some security and sense of well-being."

"She is a sweet little thing."

"I think it's more than that," Lucien mused. He had to confess, "I was having one of my nightmares the first evening and Peaches somehow got into bed with me. I think she can sense when you're upset and gives comfort."

Jean patted Peaches' head.

"And just now, she could sense my elevated heart rate, my frantic breathing—"

Jean sat on the edge of his desk and crossed her legs. "Really," she drawled.

He cupped her knee and grinned. "Oh yes." But then he reached down to ruffle Peaches' fluffy top knot. "The Chinese have a type of medicine which uses pressure points to relieve pain and stress. It appears that she knows which spots to press on with her paws, calming the nerves."

"And she just didn't know that you didn't need to be calmed." Jean folded her arms and glared down at Peaches. Dark eyes looked back innocently.

"How could she?" Lucien picked up Peaches and cuddled her close. "She's just trying to be a help."

Jean hopped off the desk. "I guess that I'll go to bed then," she said, making sure to put a question in her statement. Perhaps—

"I think that I'll do some reading tomorrow at the university library. I'm sure there's been some studies on the therapeutic use of pets for nervous disorders."

Seeing that he was in one of his investigative moods, she flounced out. Lucien was staring into Peaches' eyes, trying to discern her level of awareness. Was she simply responding the master's fear, or was it her instinct to track prey?

The next evening, Jean waved goodbye to Charlie at the door and entered the lounge room with a spring in her step...Only to find Peaches seated beside Lucien. She raised her eyebrows, but Lucien just smiled at her vaguely and continued to pet Peaches. She could swear the dog was smirking at her.

She started to say something, but decided there was no way to keep one's dignity when suggesting that you were being usurped by a dog. Instead, she collected her sewing basket and started stitching with jerky motions. Lucien didn't notice, continuing to stroke Peaches with one hand while turning the pages of the book that he'd checked out of the university library— _The Mind of the Canine_ —with the other. Jean noticed that he didn't take a sip from his evening whisky.

After a couple hours, she was stifling her third yawn, and decided to call it a night. It would appear that Lucien wasn't interested in some heavy petting on the sette—at least not with her! She dropped her mending into her basket and rose.

"Bedtime," she announced.

Lucien blinked at her. "I suppose you're right." He closed his book but as she walked by with her sewing, he snagged her arm and gently tugged her onto his lap. She smiled as his mouth descended to hers. Forgotten by her master, Peaches just down. This was more like it, Jean thought.

Things were progressing nicely when Peaches stepped on Lucien's foot again. He gasped, "I think she's trying to tell us something."

Jean pushed her hair in place, and grumbled to herself as she scrambled back to her feet. "We'll need to reach an understanding with that dog before the wedding."

Lucien grinned. "She's protecting your virtue."

Biting back a thought or two she had, Jean picked up her teacup and saucer and stopped by Lucien's untouched glass. "Shall I clear this up?" she said casually.

He was petting Peaches again and glanced at the whisky. "What? Oh, I suppose so."

Very carefully, Jean took the glass into the kitchen and emptied the contents into the sink. When she finished, Lucien was on his way to his bedroom, Peaches in his arms. She stopped him, drawing him into one more kiss. Then she dropped a light kiss to the top of Peaches' head.

"Good girl," she said. Lucien smiled at her and leaned in for another kiss—

Peaches reached out with her paw to hold Jean back.

Jean shook her head. "That needs to be settled before the wedding," she repeated.

Lucien looked uncertain. "She'll still be with us?" he asked, his voice low.

Cupping his cheek, Jean hummed a shaky note. When she could speak, she didn't answer directly. "I've got some green ribbon left from making my dress. I think there's enough to make her a bow befitting a proper guest."

"And the best present a groom could ever receive," he added.

~End


End file.
